


And It Just Gets Worse From There

by Kittycattycat



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Gaslighting, Guilt, I Know It's a Ridiculous Name but Sister is Called Miyadera a Few Times, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Incest, Past Abuse, Sibling Incest, Somewhat Implied Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 19:37:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18745720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittycattycat/pseuds/Kittycattycat
Summary: “Please forgive me, Sister. I didn't mean to worry you.” His tongue felt heavy in his mouth. Guilt?Miyadera says nothing. It makes his stomach twist. Her silence says more to him than her voice ever could. He doesn't know what to say, he never does. So useless. He continues to hesitate, to second-guess himself, just like always.





	And It Just Gets Worse From There

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the content warnings. This isn't a happy fic. It ends about as good as it starts. Korekiyo is being abused and doesn't necessarily see it. I didn't put the rape/non-con tag because he technically consents and says nothing to the contrary, but it's definitely implied that he doesn't really want it. Be cautious of this.

The store was packed, full of well-lined shelves and pairs of customers with small baskets held in their hands or tucked underneath their arms. Korekiyo never liked these sorts of crowds. In normal crowds, with tens or even hundreds of people swarming like insects around him, he was only one of many, part of a whole. He could not be identified individually, separated from the conglomerate, and even if he was, his memory would likely be forgotten by the time the passerby got to their destination. With these small individual pods, he always stuck out as the sore thumb loner. Couples quickly cut looks at him from the corners of their eyes, their gazes burning into his sides, his back, his face, his entire form.

When he finally slid the money necessary to pay for his goods over the top of the counter and to the short, stocky owner of the shop, Korekiyo just barely managed to meet the man’s eye. The shop owner knew him by name, or at the very least knew him as Miyadera’s younger brother. The man politely asked of her condition, and as always he replied that it was very much the same. It was a small lie, and a relatively harmless one. His sister was not getting worse, at least not drastically, but she was certainly not getting better. Though he desperately wished it were not true, he knew somewhere in him that she would not improve. The shop owner said his well wishes, and Korekiyo waved a hand politely, scurrying off quickly with the two fabric bags half-full of produce.

A boy, a younger one from school, waved at him on his way back home. Korekiyo did not wave back, simply ducks his head and picks up his pace somewhat. He had no interest in speaking to his classmate. Sister has made it clear that others would stop at nothing to use and manipulate him for their own benefit. The old folklore tales she used to tell him as a child often implied the same. He was too weak-willed, too naive to interact with others. It was truly for his own good that he was isolated. His sister told him this because she cared about him and because she was so wonderfully wise. When he looked around at the other groups of his peers who congregated together into tight-knit groups of far too many people, Korekiyo could only pity that they clearly never had anyone as wise as his older sister was to tell them the dangers of such things.

He was standing at the opened door to his home so suddenly it almost jarred him. It would have, certainly, if events like this hadn't been happening more and more often to him. Lost time that would go from just a few simple minutes to upwards of four hours. Out of all the things he had ‘woken up’ in the midst of, getting home was certainly one of the better ones.

“Korekiyo?” he heard a hoarse voice from the back bedroom say, “Korekiyo, is that you?”

“Yes,” he replied plainly, placing the groceries on the countertop not far from the doorway and walking over to her room.

The door was open, as it always was, but Sister was sitting on her bedside topless, exposing her breasts to the cold air of the home. Korekiyo does not avert his eyes as he knows he probably should— they're far past that stage now. He allows his gaze to linger for a few moments before he meets her eyes. She smiles at him delicately, lips painted a brilliant red. He pushes out the unwanted thoughts that come to mind in his mother’s lingering voice. ‘Her sickness is your fault, Korekiyo! You should have watched over her, protected her. Your father is gone, you're the man of the house now! It's your damn responsibility. This is your fault! Your—!’

“You should be laying in bed resting, Sister.” 

She doesn't listen, as she always tends to do when he says things pertaining to her illness in that way. Korekiyo knows she gets lonely here, feeling pathetic, feeling embarrassed that she can't even get up and go to school, can't make friends. He tries so hard to remedy that. 

Instead of heeding him, she turned towards him somewhat with malice written all across her face. “Korekiyo.”

“Yes, Sister?”

“Look me in the eyes when you speak with me.” 

He looks.

“You,” she says accusatorily, narrowing her eyes, “did not tell me where you were going, Korekiyo.” It's a matter of fact statement, and she emphasizes every word. He shrinks underneath her stern glare.

“…Oh.”

“You know that I worry when you leave without telling me where you are going. What if someone hurt you?”

“I simply wanted to get groceries. We have been running low on food and medicine, so I—”

“Are you so burdened by me that you couldn't even be bothered to tell me when you wanted to leave?” she spits like poison. Korekiyo recoils, “Am I such an inconvenience to you? Such a nuisance?”

“N-No! You—”

“Do you want to worry me to an early grave, Korekiyo?!” she suddenly shouts, jabbing her finger at him, and though she's across the room he swears he can feel her nail stabbing into his chest, “Do you want me dead so badly?!”

Her shoulders slump. The fire leaves her eyes as soon as it came, and in the end it left Korekiyo feeling so very cold. “Please, Korekiyo,” she says, voice tired, “just apologize.”

They've had this conversation before. ‘What if something happened to you?’ ‘What if the someone came and took me away? You wouldn't know what happened to me and I could be hurt or killed, I couldn't defend myself!’ His sister had yelled at him for a long while then, and he sat on her bedside next to her and listened to every word, let all of it drill into his head and burrow into his heart lest he forget any of it. But after all of it, Sister had taken his face in her hands, traced her long, thin fingers across his cheek, and held him flush against her chest as Korekiyo was reminded over and over just how much his sister loved him. ‘I was worried, Korekiyo. You know how much I worry.’ ‘I'm just glad you're okay…’

“I'm sorry,” he says. Because he is. Was? The memories of her tears dripping onto him still lingered. She was concerned, she was afraid for him, because they both knew how dangerous the outside was. It was horribly irresponsible of him to leave her before, and now he'd done it again. 

“Apologize, Korekiyo. Mean it.”

He presses his lips thin behind his mask. But he can see the sharp jut of her wrist bone, the pallor of her whole body and the exhaustion in her eyes. He can never refuse his sister. Why would he even want to?

“Please forgive me, Sister. I didn't mean to worry you.” His tongue felt heavy in his mouth. Guilt?

Miyadera says nothing. It makes his stomach twist. Her silence says more to him than her voice ever could. He doesn't know what to say, he never does. So useless. He continues to hesitate, to second-guess himself, just like always.

“I forgive you,” Sister finally says. “Please come here, Korekiyo.”

His skin prickles. He can feel his legs wobble with anxiety as they move him automatically over to the edge of the bed, and he sits down next to her. Up close, he can admire her beauty even further. The long, dark, silky hair he had modeled his own after, the golden eyes that stared back at him in mirrors. They were unmistakably siblings.

“Why are you still wearing your mask? There is no need to hide. I wish to see your face.”

“A-Ah, I—”

“Do not stutter, Korekiyo. Do not falter. I've taught you better.”

“My… apologies, Sister. I am deeply sorry.”

“I know you are,” she sighs.

She snakes her arm around to the back of his neck and undoes the mask for him. It's clumsy because it wasn't meant to be taken off in this specific way, her position and view is too awkward, but everything Sister does had a certain grace to it. He chooses to focus on that as she pulls the mask from his face

“There we go…” she breathes, fingers dancing feather-light paths across his neck, “You are so beautiful, my sweet Korekiyo. It's natural beauty as well. Your future girlfriend is certainly very, very lucky to have someone such as you.”

It always confused him when she said things like that. He knew that his sister, incredible and beautiful as she was, was the only one who could ever truly love someone like him this way, the way he needed to be loved. His sister had told him so. It had to be true.

“You're the only girl I could ever want,” he said honestly. Miyadera only sneered and pulled him closer. Sneered? No, it must have been a smile. His sister knew of his adoration, and she felt the same to him. Why else would she be biting gently on his earlobe, pressing her breasts up against him and making him shiver. 

He was her brother, her lover, her connection to the world outside of her dimly lit bedroom. Of course she loved him. She unbuttoned his pants as she kissed him deeply, her crimson lipstick smearing across his own mouth.

-

After, he lays beside her on the bed and feels sick. His head swims and his vision blurs something awful, making the room haze around him. Everything is muffled— the sounds of Miyadera’s rhythmic breathing, the sight of her room around him, the feeling of the thin sheets he had begun to ball up in his hands reflexively. All of his senses felt like they were covered in a thick layer of cotton. For some reason, he imagined what his father or mother would have said had they caught the two of them in such a position. Laying nude atop the sheets together, covered in the smells of sweat and sex, fingers still intertwined even while one of them sleeps. The idea makes him nauseous.

‘You're so weak,’ his mind told him cruelly, ‘this is why Sister tries to protect you. This is why she wants to know, needs to know, where you are when you leave the house.’

His throat nearly closed up. He blinked back the tears gathering in his eyes. He brushed his thumb across Miyadera’s knuckles. She loved him, and he loved her in return. He knew he did. He had to. His sister was so, so wonderful. ‘Yes,’ he thought, ‘this is love.’

After all, what else could it be?

**Author's Note:**

> Hi this is the first fic I've ever finished so quickly. Only one day. Holy shit.


End file.
